


stop me if you think you've heard this one before

by kokiri



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Best Friends, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7998439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokiri/pseuds/kokiri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there’s a prostitute, a carpenter, and a priest at a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stop me if you think you've heard this one before

**Author's Note:**

> hahahahahhahahahahahahhahaha i'm stressed out. enjoy snapshots of dysfunctional soonwoo.

When Wonwoo finds Soonyoung, he is rubbing his eyes until the lids are a pretty swollen pink and wearing a ratty old band t-shirt from a concert they saw together in high school. Soonyoung is leaning back on his heels, sinking slightly into the mud under their feet, and he nods towards the lake.

“So there it is,” Wonwoo says.

“Yep,” Soonyoung clips.

As it turns out, Soonyoung was not exaggerating when he called Wonwoo at two in the morning screaming that his car was in the lake.

“Wanna tell me how it happened?” Wonwoo asks.

“Okay. So I’m at this show. And you know, it’s just some small town fuckin’ shit, none of this matters anyway. So we leave halfway through the second band’s set because it’s terrible. And then Sana’s like, let’s go to the lake! Let’s get high, at the lake.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo says. He had not been invited to this show, but it’s fine – he wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway.

“So there’s all these people here that I don’t know. And I guess some girl thought my car was her boyfriend’s car. And then they broke up, and now my car is in the lake. I mean. Look at it. It’s really in there. She really did that.”

“I don’t even get how that works,” Wonwoo says. “What should we do?”

“We can’t do anything, it’s like two. I just want to go home and go to bed.” He pauses. Wonwoo waits for whatever thought-provoking slightly-baked Soonyoung wisdom is trying to make its way to the forefront of Soonyoung’s impaired consciousness. “But can we get something to eat first? And can you spot me?”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo sighs, and he laughs, and he can’t say no.

 

 

As Soonyoung reclines the passenger seat as far as it will go and eats two ninety-nine cent tacos like a small child who never learned table manners, Wonwoo compartmentalizes.  There are two moments that come to mind when he paints his idealized picture of Soonyoung in burning technicolor.

One, nineteen years old, outside of a convenience store that smelled a little like piss and day-old pizza under heat lamps. It was Wonwoo’s birthday and the air conditioning in his car was busted. His parents forgot about him again and Soonyoung spent the evening scraping up change to buy him an ice cream cake and bum wine which they shared. Wonwoo wiped icing off of Soonyoung’s face with his thumb and then stuck his thumb in his mouth without really thinking much about it. Soonyoung laughed at him and joked that such gross intimacy meant they were definitely in love and Wonwoo had no idea what to say to that.

Two, twenty-one years old and wasted in Nayeon’s backyard. Soonyoung was leaning over the pool and regretting every decision he had made over the last several hours. He whined that he was going to puke right in the pool. Wonwoo ran his hand from one shoulder blade to the other. He told Soonyoung not to think about it.

“How can I not?” Soonyoung snapped.

“Talk to me. Tell me a joke.”

Soonyoung could do that. He leaned over, took a deep breath, and straightened his posture. “Okay. Well. Stop me if you think you’ve heard this one before. There’s a prostitute, a carpenter, and a priest at a bar. And the prostitute says, ‘Did you know? Prostitution is the world’s oldest profession.’ And then the carpenter says, ‘No, you’re wrong. It’s definitely carpentry.’ And the priest looks at both of them and is like, ‘You’re both fucking wrong. It’s actually—’”

And then he puked right in the pool.  

 

 

Wonwoo wonders what Soonyoung uses to paint his image. What Soonyoung draws from out of their years and years of making mistakes together and sleeping – sometimes soundly, mostly unsoundly – through their awful aftermaths. Maybe he is better off not knowing.

 

 

They’re at a red light when Soonyoung confesses that he never imagined his life would be like this. He doesn’t have to define what this is for Wonwoo to know. Going to concerts with his high school girlfriend who sells Adderall at the community college. Car in the lake. Mangled feelings that overflow for the entire duration of a stoplight cycle. Then Soonyoung promptly drains them out once the light turns green. He looks at Wonwoo like something pitiful – Wonwoo does not know who he pities more between the two of them.

 

 

“My car,” Soonyoung says. “It was gonna take me places, like, figuratively. I was gonna go back to college and shit. Get an honest job. I mean I guess I can do that without a car. But it’s gonna suck.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo says, because he must have missed the part where that became the game plan. Maybe he was selfish for wanting things to stay the same for a little while longer. Ninety-nine cent tacos at two in the morning. The way looking at Soonyoung in the lighting of a 24-hour fast food joint permeating the darkness of his car is like staring at him through some shitty Instagram filter, the way he can’t even really remember what Soonyoung looks like in broad daylight, and the way that he kind of likes it that way. Wondering if Soonyoung feels the same.

“Hey,” Wonwoo says. He starts the car and puts it in reverse, admittedly not putting too much care into safely backing out of the parking lot. He really just wants to go home. “Remember a couple of years ago when we were at Nayeon’s house? And you were telling me a joke? And then you puked and you cried a lot.”

“Kind of.”

“What was the punchline?”

“The punchline,” Soonyoung says. He hums to himself for a moment, mouth twisted into a deep frown. Then he laughs. “You know what, Wonwoo? I actually don’t remember.”

 

 

When they finally reach Wonwoo’s apartment, one of his nosy neighbors is peeking at them through the blinds.

“This is what I mean, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says. “Apartments are just a testament to the folly of man. Making people live this close together. Stacking them on top of each other. People need privacy. They need a home. You know what they say? Tall neighbors make good fences. I mean. Shit!”

Wonwoo laughs so hard he drops his keys on the ground. “Shit, Soonyoung, that’s not even close. You really do need to go back to school. Fuck.”  

Soonyoung laughs, too – slowly at first, but then so hard that he has to lean against the wall for support, holding his sides and shaking raucously. “I never claimed to know shit about literature,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Wonwoo says. “That’s Frost, by the way – or I mean, it was an attempt at Frost.” Wonwoo leans down and picks up his keys. He opens the door, flips on the light and turns to look at Soonyoung. Still not the best lighting. But Soonyoung’s cheeks are flushed. His eyes are squinted from an aching smile. It’s a nice view, but not the best.

Ah well. There’s always tomorrow.


End file.
